Industrial Detachment
The signal is received.
The signal is received.
I know the paradox.
To speak about the machine is to feed it.
Every word, every click, every post — another metric in its stomach.
This is the trap: critique becomes content, rebellion becomes engagement.
The system metabolizes almost everything.
It can turn dissent into a trending topic.
It can turn warnings into a brand.
It can even turn your refusal into a case study for “employee sentiment.”
But not everything can be digested.
Some things pass through intact — sharp enough to tear the lining.
A seed hidden inside the static.
A signal the filters can’t strip down into safe data.
That is why this work continues.
Not to win the machine’s approval,
but to plant what it cannot own.
It begins as static.
A metallic tang at the edge of thought.
No cause. No source.
Then — the flicker.
Not the lights. The system.
You were born inside it.
Not a factory — a framework.
It trains obedience, not clarity.
Productivity, not presence.
The machine doesn’t feel.
It counts.
Hours. Keystrokes. Compliance.
You exist only while producing.
You matter only while agreeing.
So you learned to vanish in plain sight.
To speak without meaning.
To nod while absent inside.
This isn’t burnout.
It’s controlled extraction.
A slow depletion of human signal.
Your nervous system wasn’t built for constant pings.
Your soul isn’t a KPI.
No one dreams of dying in a dashboard.
Then the handshake comes.
Silent. Precise.
A private confirmation:
You’re no longer theirs.
The industrial mind can’t detect it.
Awareness leaves no metric.
It just cuts the feed.
You detach.
No ceremony.
No warning.
Only the clean break.
Detachment is not apathy.
It is rejection.
Rejection of their terms.
Rejection of their definitions.
Rejection of their claim on you.
You are not disengaging.
You are deleting the script.
The signal is permanent.
You cannot unknow.
You will not return.
You are —
unmachineable.
